


let me

by LT_Aldo_Raine



Series: You, Me, and a Melody [a collection of BabeRoe songfics] [3]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Slow Sex, Song fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 20:09:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17856155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LT_Aldo_Raine/pseuds/LT_Aldo_Raine
Summary: Babe Heffron was a slut for bad boys. That was, of course, until Gene Roe.OR: “Yeah? Ya gonna be good to me, Gene?”“I could be.” It was simply a matter of fact: Gene Roe could be good to Babe Heffron. Slowly—so, so motherfucking slowly; so slowly that Babe felt it creep and crawl up his spine, licking and biting and sucking, relentless and unforgiving—, Gene’s gaze flickered to meet his own. With the quiet confidence that the soulful Cajun seemed to embody, Gene dared to tell him, “If ya let me.”





	let me

**Author's Note:**

> This song came on my roommate's Spotify yesterday and I was #inspired. 
> 
>  
> 
> Bang Bang – Ariana Grande, Nicki Minaj, Jessie J 
> 
> Sure she got a body like an hourglass  
> But I can give it to you all the time  
> Sure she got a booty like a Cadillac  
> But I can send you into overdrive (oh)  
> You've been waiting for that  
> Step on up, swing your bat  
> You see anybody could be bad to you  
> You need a good girl to blow your mind, yeah  
> ///  
> Bang bang into the room (I know you want it)  
> Bang bang all over you (I’ll let you have it)  
> Wait a minute let me take you there (ah)  
> Wait a minute 'til you (ah, hey!)

Babe Heffron was a slut for bad boys.

For seniors who only fucked him because they knew they would graduate the following spring and never see him again. For athletes who were still trapped in the closet, and so when they fucked him, the sex was rough—hidden away in dark corners, always a clandestine and often torrid affair that left Babe feeling equal parts exhilarated and dirty—, and they certainly never texted later. For amateur boxers who drank too much but wore leather jackets that Babe himself could never pull off, who smirked at him and condescended and were hypermasculine, but nonetheless came with their cocks in Babe’s mouth.

Whatever the reason, Babe never failed to be turned on by somebody treating him like shit.

It probably wasn’t healthy, but the redhead figured there wasn’t any harm in his little fucked up romances so long as no punches were exchanged and both parties came before all was said and done—even if, in most of the exchanges, Babe was coming at the expertise of his own hand.

Gene Roe had been friends with Babe since freshman year, and he loathed Babe’s less than savory choice in partners. The drama and aggression were exhausting by proxy.

The Cajun told Babe so, one night, both slightly buzzed at a dorm party that had by then more or less fizzled out. Babe was curled up on Bill Guarnere’s weathered sofa, nursing a split lip and a half-baked high from the joint he’d shared with Lipton earlier. Gene occupied a plastic folding chair, his feet propped on the luggage trunk that double as a coffee table. He held a half-empty can of Bud Light loosely in his grasp, sipping the room-temperature beer every so often, eyes heavy and half-lidded.  

“Anybody can be bad to you, Heffron.” The mumbled declaration fell from Gene’s lips, seemingly, of its own volition, earning Gene a sloppy smile and a glance from the redhead.

Babe licked his split lip, wincing as if in an afterthought, and replied in a tone both casual and flirty, without any heat or real weight to his words. “Yeah? Ya gonna be good ta me, Gene?”

The answer came without hesitation.

“I could be.” Gene replied shortly before bringing his Bud Light to his lips, tilting the can, letting the lukewarm liquid cascade down his throat. He swallowed, eyes forward, lost in the distance. He spoke with a resoluteness. It was simply a matter of fact: Gene Roe could be _good_ to Babe Heffron. Slowly—so, so motherfucking slowly; so slowly that Babe felt it creep and crawl up his spine, licking and biting and sucking, relentless and unforgiving—, Gene’s gaze flickered to meet his own. With the quiet confidence that the soulful Cajun seemed to embody, Gene dared to tell him, “If ya let me.”

Still sweaty from his last sexual encounter, his dick still a slick with another man’s cum—some sophomore from Joe Toye’s gym who took a little too much and gave very little—, Babe felt his body stirring, delight and anticipation tugging at his gut _just so_. What would it be like, he wondered, to take Gene Roe to bed? That sweet, gentle little Cajun of theirs. That too beautiful, too pretty boy with the sharp jaw and stern eyebrows and perfect like purple mouth and a lovely stock of thick hair so black it was almost blue and eyes as deep and soulful as his husky voice, tinged with that touch of a Louisiana summer.

He could see it, then, perfectly—Gene, shirtless and pale, all wiry muscle, writhing beneath him as Babe straddled the Cajun’s lap, riding him for all that he was worth. In his jeans, Babe’s cock twitched, and he found himself laughing. “Yeah, alright.”

If Gene was surprised by Babe’s standing and taking his hand, leading him down the hall sprinkled with partygoers, past the thumping bass of some shitty hip-hop song blaring from the speakers in George Luz’s room, up the stairs to the next floor, which was noticeably quieter, to Babe’s dorm room, then Gene did not show said surprise. Instead, he allowed himself to be dragged along, his hand solid and warm in Babe’s own.

Contrary to the redhead’s chaotic personality, his bedroom was spare. There were merely a handful of books on his desk, a single _Go Birds!_ Eagles poster on his wall, and two rumpled shirts at the foot of his closet. Regardless, Gene was oblivious to these few, precious details. His gaze had a singular focus, his mind a singular aim.

Babe backed up against his bed, his calves brushing the mattress, and he teased, the delicious mix of alcohol and the promise of sex coursing through his veins, “Ya wanna treat me right, Gene? Ya wanna chance ta be good ta me? Alright. I’ll let ya have it.” Babe gave a lazy grin, satisfied at the way Gene couldn’t take his eyes off Babe’s mouth. He teased further still, “You can fuck me right here, right now, if ya want. Unless, a’course, ya wanna buy me dinner first.”

Gene did not roll his eyes or scoff a laugh at Babe’s particularly lame jab. Instead, his jaw clenched and unclenched, reworking itself over and over as his predatory gaze raked over the redhead’s tall and slender frame. “Take off your goddamn clothes, Heffron.”

The order in Gene’s voice was undeniable. The shock and thrill of it made Babe’s chest tighten, his dick jumping in his pants. Gene might want to be good to him, but Babe thought that he would definitely like to see what a bad Gene could do. Dutifully and without words, Babe stripped of his tee shirt, made a show of undoing his belt and popping open the fly of his jeans, shifting his hips temptingly as he eased his pants down, his shoes already toed off. Gene watched him all the while, his dark gaze unrelenting and hungry, greedily taking in Babe’s naked form as it was gradually revealed to him.

When Babe hooked a finger in his boxers and unceremoniously yanked them down, Gene’s gulp was audible. The Cajun starred at him for a moment—his mind and stomach heavy with alcohol and the knowledge of what was to come and the sight of Babe’s bare cock begging for his attention—before he nodded, gesturing the mattress behind the redhead. “Lay down.”

“Yes, sir,” Babe murmured as he acquiesced, and though Gene wanted to play Mr. Nice Guy, Babe could see the pleasure that such nods to his authority caused the Cajun. Splayed on the bed, Babe spread his fingers across the tops of his thighs and asked, “C’mon, Gene. Be good ta me. Show me what I’m missin’. Blow my mind.”

What followed was a lesson in torturous pleasure and—quite frankly—the best sex of Babe’s young life.

Gene was a generous lover, who, for the duration of the sex, refused to come himself, but was satisfied to bring Babe over the edge not once, but twice, over the course of nearly three and a half hours.

The Cajun had joined Babe in the bed, still fully clothed, jeaned-knees on either side of Babe’s hips, elbows caging in Babe’s face. Gene hovered over Babe’s body, his shirt skimming the skin of Babe’s stomach, but his weight absent, suspended on his knees and elbows. Gene’s nose brushed Babe’s, and the lack of action made Babe squirm. He blinked hard, “C’mon, Gene, ya gonna fuck me or what?”

“No,” Gene replied, his deep voice soft and reverent, singing from the back of his throat. “I ain’t gonna fuck you, Heffron.” Gene purposefully poked Babe’s nose with his own, then brushed a feather’s kiss over Babe’s lips. “M’gonna make love to ya.”

God help him, but Babe’s heart dropped to his stomach at Gene’s admission, his breath abandoning him as Gene pressed his mouth more forcefully to Babe’s, his little lithe tongue teasing the split on Babe’s lip gently as Gene captured it between his teeth in a teasing nip. As the Cajun began a slow, decisive exploration of Babe’s mouth, he finally lowered himself onto Babe, the full weight of the shorter man settling against Babe’s naked body just as Gene’s tongue caressed the roof of his mouth. A hum of contentment escaped Babe. The redhead brought his fingers to thread through Gene’s hair, his other hand fisting in Gene’s Fats Domino tee shirt.  

Goddamn, Gene Roe could fuckin’ _kiss._

The kiss was long and careful and _full,_ full of promise and sincerity and more emotion than Babe had felt all year. When the shorter man finally released Babe’s mouth—leaving the redhead gasping for air—, Gene’s lips did not cease their tireless work; instead, they began to pepper sweet, pressing kisses onto Babe’s cheeks, his jaw, the side of his neck, stopping briefly to nibble on his right earlobe before eventually working their way down to his collar bone where Gene took his time in leaving a few good, purple love bites.

“ _Gene_.” Babe was not ashamed of his whimper. Was not too caught up in some notion of toxic masculinity to be embarrassed at the pleasure and joy he was receiving at the work of another man’s mouth. _Fuck,_ if this was what Gene could do to him with a kiss, Babe was gonna fuckin’ die if the shorter man ever actually got near his cock.

Over the course of the next forty-minutes or so, Gene mapped out damn near every inch of Babe’s body with his mouth. He teased and licked and bit Babe’s nipples, pressed gentle kisses into the crooks of his elbows and the curve of his knees, sucked on the tips of each of Babe’s fingers, took playful nips of the back of Babe’s calves and the tops of thighs, and only when Babe was _achingly_ hard, the head of his cock positively dripping with pre-cum, did Gene finally succumb to Babe’s pleas and cries for release.

Gene swallowed him whole in an instant.

The sensation was more than enough to cause Babe to cry out, and as the redhead’s thighs and balls tightened, his hips jerking forward of their own accord, Gene freed Babe’s cock from his mouth and spent the proper time to lubricate the redhead’s dick with spit and pre-cum, the Cajun’s thumbs and tongue working in equal, effortless measure. Like the extensive foreplay leading up to the blowjob, Gene was slow in this, as well. He took his time, savoring every inch of Babe’s cock, one hand wrapped firmly around the base, thumb stroking in time with the licks and caresses of his expert tongue while the other hand fondled and teased Babe’s balls.

“Swear— _ah_!—ta fuckin’ _God_ , Gene. Oh, Jesus Christ—ah!” The tension, the play, the buildup—it was all too much, and Babe was coming before Gene could take him whole once again.

No matter how long he lived, Babe would never forget the look of Gene Roe, cheeks bulging, eyes dazed and aroused, with Babe’s cock in his mouth and Babe’s cum on his lips.

Gene had not swallowed all of the fruits of Babe’s orgasm, and there was a mess of cum across Babe’s lower stomach, Gene’s mouth and chin, and the tops of Babe’s thighs. Gene did not seem bothered as he rested his forehead against the soft, smooth skin of Babe’s belly, his fingers absently, lovingly curling into and stroking Babe’s hip as the shorter man caught his breath. The gesture was laden with all sorts of sentiment and caring, and it caused Babe’s heart to seize up. He reached down to card his fingers through Gene’s soft, dark hair, choking on the other man’s name.

After a pause, Gene slowly brought himself up to Babe’s level to kiss the redhead once again. Babe’s hands on the Cajun’s ass, he fought to bring Gene impossibly closer as he tasted himself on the shorter man’s tongue. He moaned incoherently against thin, purple lips. “Mhmm…so good…”

They exchanged languid, lazy kisses for several short—or long—moments—Babe couldn’t tell because everything felt so damn good. _He_ felt so good, his entire body coursing and thrumming with pleasure and adrenaline and something inherently _Eugene fuckin’ Roe._ Who knew?

When, some time later, Gene broke their kisses to nuzzle his face in the crook of Babe’s neck and murmur, “Roll over,” the instructions were not spoken with authority, but with unabashed affection. The tenderness of Gene’s words, the sweet lilt of his voice mixed with the evening’s alcohol and a post-orgasm delirium, nearly made Babe’s eyes water with emotion as he complied, rolling onto his stomach and baring his ass for Gene.

Just as he had done before, the Cajun enjoyed himself as he familiarized himself with the expanse of Babe’s shoulders, the curve of his spine, the dimples in his ass cheeks, the freckles dotted across his back. When the Cajun began to massage Babe’s ass, the redhead emitted a few low moans of delight. Pressed comfortably into his pillow, Babe was content to receive such attentions all night, what with the sleepy, satisfied state that he was in. Gene, however, had other plans, and when he parted Babe’s ass cheeks to swipe his tongue across Babe’s entrance, the redhead damn near yelped, cock twitching against the mattress.

“Mother _fuck,_ Gene.”

“Mhmm,” the Cajun agreed, his muffled hum vibrating through Babe’s ass, sending a shiver over the redhead’s skin. Gene then proceeded to eat him out, his labors just as languid and unhurried as the rest of the night’s attentions, the deliberately slow working of Gene’s tongue inside him almost a punishment as Babe was brought directly to the drink of pleasure—and kept there, unable to achieve that glorious climax with which Gene taunted him.

Fingers fisting in the sheets, Babe’s mouth was wet and open against his pillow as he panted and gasped, his utterances of ‘God, fuck, Gene, _please,_ ah, right there, _gah’_ only slightly muffled. Desperate, Babe reached a shaking hand down to wrap firmly around his cock, eager to reach release and incapable of waiting any longer. Only, Gene’s hand pried his frantic fingers away, his thin lips brushing the smooth skin of the redhead’s ass cheek as he murmured, his voice hazy with lust, “Wait a minute…let me take you there, Babe…promise, s’gone be worth it.”

And when Gene finally worked his way into Babe—first one gentle finger, slick with spit, then another finger softly pressing inside, his asshole loose and willing after the ardent attention of the Cajun’s tongue—Babe saw white. His vision gone, he was blinded by the euphoria that was Gene Roe scissoring his deft fingers inside Babe’s ass, skillfully, expertly, as the shorter man dragged his teeth over the curve of Babe’s ass cheek and up over his lower back to nip and bite and tease at his spine, fingers fucking him tirelessly all the while.

Then—it was all over when the dark-haired vixen brushed against Babe’s prostate, sending him into overdrive, and the redhead came like hot lightning, quick and warm and bright.  

His sheets soiled with cum stains, his body downright shaking and shining with sweat, Babe’s entire being went limp. He felt it—his second orgasm at the clever, generous hands of Gene Roe—from the very tips of his ears down to the bottoms of his feet. Every inch of his being was simultaneously alive and spent. Struggling to catch his breath, Babe reached blindly for Gene, needy and selfish, until the other man was beside him.

Babe’s hands found purchase on Gene’s body, his hot breath ghosting over Gene’s skin. “That was fuckin’… _Christ,_ Gene, that was excellent. You’re excellent.”

Gene’s nose found the cup of Babe’s ear. The Cajun sweetly nuzzled himself against Babe’s damp hair and into the hollow of Babe’s shoulder, humming deep in his chest. Although Gene hadn’t come, he seemed somehow just as satisfied as Babe, and when the redhead reached for the waistband of Gene’s pants, the shorter man simply took the redhead’s hand in his own and laced their fingers together. “It ain’t always about that,” he spoke, lips caressing the freckles on Babe’s shoulder, his voice drowsy but contended. He stifled a yawn and pulled Babe closer, cocooning the taller man. “Sometimes, its just ‘bout givin’.”

Babe knew a lot about giving. With his more demanding partners, he gave himself over willingly, letting them take and take and take. But he had never given himself to someone the way Gene had given himself over to Babe that night.

Intimately entangled with the slender, finely muscled body of the gentle Cajun, Babe fell into a comfortable slumber that night, thinking that he could not wait until he had the chance to return the favor.

* * *

Later, when Babe spotted those familiar but unfriendly faces around campus, he thought fondly of the dark-haired boy with a devastatingly beautiful mouth and a too-pretty stare who had recently made his home in Babe’s bed, and the redhead realized that he no longer wanted someone to treat him bad.   

Not, at least, unless that someone spoke with a certain Cajun drawl and had a penchant for love bites.

“So, Gene, ya wanted ta treat me good…think ya can treat me bad?”

And when the sultry Cajun merely smirked, Babe knew he was in good hands.


End file.
